


As We Fall

by gabrielthearchangelspn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Gabriel, Fallen Angels, Human Castiel, It works to well, Moriarty is Metatrons vessel, Post-Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, Post-Reichenbach, story telling metaphorically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3105806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielthearchangelspn/pseuds/gabrielthearchangelspn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being robbed of his grace Castiel crash lands in London, the day Sherlock Holmes makes his plan to jump from St. Bart's. Now John Watson's asking questions. Takes place during Supernatural's 'Sacrifice' and BBC Sherlock's 'Reichenbach'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crash and Burn

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like that title was just staring at me like a bad joke. Anyways,  
> DISCLAIMER- I DON’T OWN BBC SHERLOCK OR SUPERNATURAL  
> As much as I wish I owned them I don’t. *sighs sadly*

Sherlock Holmes stood on the ledge of the hospital with his mobile to his ear. "No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move."

"Alright," Dr. Watson looked up with terrified and sad eyes.

The detective’s voice broke as he spoke. "Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?" John feared his friend’s next sentence.

Sherlock hesitated and continued. "This phone call, it's... it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."

"Leave a note when?"

Sherlock Holmes did not cry. He did not show weakness towards stupid ordinary people...but John Watson wasn't ordinary. "Goodbye, John."

John stepped forward, two words on his tongue. "No. Don't—"

William Sherlock Scott Holmes threw the phone to the side and stepped off the ledge of St. Bart's hospital; while Dr. John Watson watched in horror. To everyone else’s horror another man with a trench coat dropped from the sky. The falling man on fire grabbed Holmes and pulled him close. People on the streets were screaming in terror. Watson could feel the heat radiating off the man (if he was one) as he soared passed. It was with even more of a shock when the man on fire landed with a crash, and the sickening snap of several bones...black wings burned into the asphalt around him.

Watson rushed forwards pushing through the crowd of people. He was stopped by an officer. "Sorry sir, these people need medical help, but they are by some miracle alive." John felt that he was breathing again. Sherlock was alive; the other man who somehow saved the detectives life was alive.

A few minutes later the officers had cleared away most of the crowd. John stood in disbelief, what could drive the detective this far.

He heard a small whisper come from Sherlock as he was being lifted. “Save John.” There was more mumbles after that but he couldn’t hear him. Without being questioned Watson followed inside the hospital. He listened carefully to what the nurses were saying were saying. The detective was being put under suicide watch, and was perfectly fine just had a shattered wrist. _What about the other man?_

The image of fire and tan cloth was burned into his mind. How could someone survive that John learned from Sherlock that only reality itself existed; if the man survived this how would he go about figuring this case out. The room was pretty silent, and they had to sedate the detective because he was getting violent. The nurses kept asking John to calm him down but he was too lost in his thoughts.

What caught John’s attention was the coat Holmes was clinging too. The tan trench coat, obviously Sherlock was confused to think that the coat was his. His own blue wool trench coat was laid across John’s lap. Both coats were covered in blood, but it wasn’t Sherlock’s blood because he came out injured except for a broken wrist. Which meant the other man was most definitely dead.

Once Sherlock was asleep the nurse sat down with a sigh. “Hope the other one made it out alive. Your friend got very lucky.”

“So I’ve heard, any chance I can see him?” John asked hesitantly.

“I can take your there later, once they have him stabilized.” The nurse explained.

John nodded. Once the nurse left he was alone with Sherlock. What the hell had been going through his mind; trying to kill him. Night seemed to come quicker and quicker. It was about eight when the nurse returned. She checked on the detectives arm and led John into the corridor.

“I must warn you, his names Jimmy Novak, he’s in a coma…he had no known relatives that are alive. So he’s pretty alone…it might help if you tried some of the contacts on his phone.”

The nurse handed John a plastic evidence bag with an old cellphone. He nodded and took the bag with two fingers. John was a doctor, so he would figure out the mystery of the man who fell from the sky. He would fix the emotional disaster that had become of Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Questions

John watched over the comatose man. I’d been five days since the mysterious man showed up. John was struggling with contacting any of the people listed on his contacts. Though there were only 4 people listed; Dean, Samuel, Robert, and Kevin. Sherlock had been released yesterday night since then he had locked himself in his room. John tried that morning to get Sherlock to talk but he only received a rough “go away.” And that’s why he was now sitting beside Jimmy Novak. 

Apparently Jim had been a missing person for over 5 years. He was from Illinois, so it was really strange; a young accountant that just up and left his family. John felt sorry for him; there wasn’t any other way to put it. From what he had heard he had horrible burns up his back, and multiple broken bones. Watson was sure that someone would not fall in a coma from a few burns and broken ribs; but the paleness of the raven haired man told him that there was much more than met the eye.

He stared down at the contacts list of Mr. Novak. No one deserved to fight alone. So he clicked the first name listed. Just slightly hoping they wouldn’t answer. John had delivered bad news before but this was different- just different. The phone rang several times before someone picked up. 

“Cas…?” The man hesitated. 

“No, I’m Doctor John Watson-”

“Oh god, what happened?” 

“Um, he’s in a coma, not sure what happened.”

“Damnit, why is everyone going sleeping beauty; where is he?” 

“London, St. Bart’s hospital,”

“London? I can’t make it, just promise you’ll watch him, please I bet I can trust you.”

“I um- sure.”

With that Dean hung up leaving John just as confused. He was dreading watching the man unfold, he seemed so alone and broken. Of course so was Sherlock. They both seemed to have fallen. (Quite literally)  
________________________________________  
Meanwhile in Castiel’s Comatose mind…

“Dean?” Castiel asked. 

“Sam?” 

“Cas?”

“Samuel? Where am I?”

“You’re in a com, dumbass.” 

“Why can’t I see you?” Castiel was terrified.

He’d been screaming and yelling for someone to reach in and take him out of this darkness. He just wanted the Winchesters he wanted Dean’s insults, and Sam’s irritated expressions. He just wanted his family. 

“Cas, you need to wake up.”

“How?”

“Just wake up, Cas it’s not hard.”

Then there stood the younger Winchester looking down at him. He had this glow to him, and his face filled with obvious pain. “I’m gonna die, Cas, please just open your eyes. Please let Dean know I was ready to die.”  
________________________________________  
John yelped when the man who was in a coma suddenly shot awake his bright blue eyes gaining color and stress. He struggled to breathe through the ventilator. John clicked the help button and stood over him.

“Shh, calm down.”

John ran his hand through the soft black hair, whilst looking at his eyes. He’d seen the look in those eyes on too many people; himself, Sherlock, Mycroft, and even Mrs. Hudson. The cold stiffness and anger of a soldier, John could only guess what he had been through. 

Soon enough that horrible thing was removed. John sat back straight in his chair, and began explaining why Mr. Novak was now in a London hospital.

“I’m not quite sure what happened but you literally fell from the sky, it’s a good thing to since you saved my best friend. You’ve been in a hospital for eight days; you were on a ventilator because your lung was punctured by one of the broken ribs. Can you remember your name?”

“My name is Castiel; I’m an angel of the lord.”

“Are you sure it’s not Jimmy Novak?”

Castiel struggled to catch his breath again. “Jimmy Novak is dead, he prayed to me, and I took him as a vessel.”

Well that explains the wings…Of course John just assumed he had brain damage; but a voice in the back of his head telling him that “Castiel” was telling the truth. 

“Ok, so you’re an angel.”

“Well, I’m human now.”

John had too many questions. Too many things he needed to know, but someone was counting on him to keep an eye on the so called human-angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why I decided to portray Watson the way I did.


	3. Do It I Dare You

As soon as the door opened Sherlock could feel the presence. He was napping, which he’d been doing a lot of lately. He was trying his hardest to avoid John; keep him safe. It’d been 12 days since he’d plotted his plan to disappear and take down Moriarty’s criminal web. Moriarty was dead now, so why’d he still feel so…unsafe.

He rolled out of the bed and wrapped his sheet around himself, too lazy and didn’t have the patience to put on clothes. He waddled down the hall the second he saw the black head of hair he started deducing.

Suit, business man,  
Trench coat; lives somewhere where it rains a lot,  
Expression, sadness? Greif? Annoyance? Loneliness?  
Hands, palm with blade indent,  
Injuries, broken bones, and burns,

Sherlock was so busy thinking he hadn’t realized John was even talking.

“He’s deducing you give him a minute…or more.” John eased himself into his chair and took out his laptop. Updating his blog, Sherlock noted. 

“John? Who is he?” Sherlock snapped; new people, no trust. 

“My name is Castiel. You must be the Mr. Holmes, John has told me so much about.” Castiel offered a smile. Too bad Sherlock could literally read him like a book.

“So Castiel, who died?”

“I’d rather not say.” 

“Military buddies? Sibling-” change of expression, sadness. “Ah, so it was a sibling.”

“…I have many siblings they appear not to have the best luck…” If only Castiel could read Mr. Holmes’ thoughts, then he’d take him down a notch. 

“You staying,” Sherlock asked,

“I, um- no…” Castiel couldn’t trust these people, random strangers who knew nothing about him or his past.

“None sense, Castiel you’re a long way from home we love if you stayed.” John looked at him with wide excited grey eyes.

“Thank you, could I use a mobile please?” Castiel asked, and John gladly reached in his pocket handing Castiel his phone that he had forgot to return earlier. Sherlock scowled at the man as he left the flat.

“John, he’s not staying here.” Sherlock shot John a ‘Do it I dare you’ look. 

The older man sighed, “He’s got no one Sherlock, he saved your life be grateful.”

The memory hit Sherlock like a train, he had it all planned out, bust threw a window in St. Bart’s, and run through back door- but no Mr. literal dropped out of nowhere had to crash into him and hit the ground. 

“Jimmy Novak, I thought it was?” John groaned he really wished he could explain this to Sherlock without a physics argument.

“He’s an angel Sherlock.” John simply said; turning his head back to the screen. 

“Ha, and I’m a Demon.”

“I’d be lying if I denied that.”

“Oh, screw you John.”

“You wish.”

John could have sworn he saw fire in Sherlock’s eyes. The taller man gave John another death stare before stomping off, his sheet catching on corners as he went.   
Meanwhile Castiel had been trying to reach Dean. He paced restlessly as he waited for the phone to be picked up. He stopped pacing and took a deep breath but he almost choked on air when Dean started ranting.

“Jesus, look how hard is it to watch over a comatose patient!” Dean yelled. “Just make sure he doesn’t die, like everyone else seems to be doing!” Crap, Castiel was too late, Sam was already dead.

“Dean…”

“Oh, Cas…hey. What’d you want?”

“How’s Sam?” silence unbearable silence.

“He’s alive if that’s what you’re asking. Of course, you’ve got your own goddamn problems than my brother dying.” 

“No, Dean…I’m human. But I have spoken to Sam.”

“He’s been in a coma for weeks Castiel,” that hurt Dean didn’t call Castiel by his nickname, 

“I’m sorry Dean, I have to go, and I have some prescriptions to pick up.” 

“Wait Cas-”

Of course pissing off Castiel never ended well; he was experiencing such deep human emotions…such as anger. Within seconds the phone was in his hand, to the floor; in pieces. He limped back into 221B, where John looked up surprised.

“You alright?”

“Fine,”


	4. The Graceless Fall

The Graceless Fall  
Posted by, Dr. John H. Watson  
Some time ago, I sat here and blogged about the extraordinary Mr. Holmes. He taught me a lot of things, one being that only reality itself existed, and I believed him. That was until fifteen days ago, I met a man, well he wasn’t really a man, but we’ll go with it. He told me of angels, and demons; that all of your nightmares are real.   
Why was I starting to believe him? I watched him with my very own eyes drop from the sky, blazing fire behind him, and he lived. He talked of these people called, ‘Hunters’ who would kill these creatures that lurked in the night. At first I thought he was just mentally ill, but then things started happening. I thought that the only true monster in the world was Moriarty, how wrong I was.   
________________________________________  
“Prove it.” Sherlock sat on the coffee table with his legs crossed and hand (mind his broken wrist) in his lap. 

The voice startled Castiel awake. He was oddly grateful that he was awoken, as his dreams were nightmares. He sighed heavily before struggling to pull himself into a sitting position. With a broken arm it was difficult. 

“Prove what?” Castiel choose his words carefully. He had learned that Sherlock Holmes could twist your words and turn them against you. The man was not of his favorite people.

“If you claim what lurks in the shadows is real, prove it. You’re obviously not crazy but I must see this with my own eyes.”

“Sherlock! Stop badgering him let the man sleep!” John Watson for the third time had saved Castiel from this conversation.

“No, no, it’s fine; I just need a few things.”

“That is?” Sherlock’s eyes widened with curiosity. 

“Salt, a lighter, a newspaper,” Simple salt and burn, “Oh and a shotgun, with a couple rounds.”

Sherlock smiled and dashed out the door, holding his scarf and trench coat over his uninjured arm. John looked at Castiel quite surprised. “You’re really going to show us a ghost?”

“First, we need a hunt.”

Watson was basically shaking with excitement and fear. “You sure you should do in your condition?”

“Nothing to lose,” 

The sentence was so lifeless, and sounded so dark. John was stared down into his cup of tea. John was tempted to jump on a plane and drag his friends back here. The poor man was falling apart. Sherlock was too, but he was better at hiding it. 

John and Castiel sat in silence that was until Sherlock came running through the house; bag of salt, shotgun in one hand, and newspaper rolled up under his armpit.   
“If were burning a body, can we burn James Moriarty?”

Castiel shrugged and grabbed the borrowed cane from the floor below him. John led the way out of 221B. They stood on the curb whilst Sherlock flagged down a cab. The cabbie was giving the 3 men odd looks as they started putting salt in the shotguns bullets, replacing the gun powder.

“Nothing to see here,” stated Holmes. 

The cabbie shrugged and kept driving. They reached the cemetery, it was much nicer than the ones the Winchesters worked jobs at. Sherlock Holmes eagerly led the way. John had never actually seen the grave of Moriarty, though he always figured he didn’t deserve one.

It was a simple garnet stone, engraved with 

‘Professor James Moriarty  
1976-2011’

Sherlock spoke up. “John we’re both a little one handed could you maybe start digging.”  
John blinked once.

“Please, JOHNNY!” Sherlock begged.

“Fine.” John angrily took the shovel from Sherlock plunging it into the ground near the headstone. 

Castiel sat down, leaning against the other side of the headstone, with a shotgun in his hands (just in case) he was lost thinking about Dean and Sam. It felt like it’d been so long since he’d seen his friends. He was afraid to look at the date. He had broken his phone so it was unlikely he’d hear from them anytime soon.

Sherlock on the other hand; was staring at the half uncovered coffin. Hoping that his mind was wrong, Moriarty had to be in there. If he wasn’t he’d track him down and personally put a bullet through his brain…With John’s gun. 

He glanced over towards Castiel who had his head had slumped forward staring at the ground, the street lights casting a glare over his face, catching his blue eyes in the right light. Castiel eyes were glassy and tear filled. Sherlock was pretty sure he looked the same.

“…Sherlock…” John slowly backed away from the grave.

Sherlock stood up and peered in. “…Oh god…” He whispered to himself.   
Then Castiel poked his head over the headstone, and stumbled backwards a few feet. 

“…No…” He whimpered.

The body was not of James Moriarty, but of the tall, shaggy haired…

Sam Winchester.


	5. The Grave Disscussion

The Grave Discussion  
Posted by, John Hamish Watson 

I looked into the eyes of a monster today; a different kind of monster, a real mythical beast. I’d never really stopped to think about who this man was. I thought of him as a criminal, or a serial killer, but never a monster. That word I used to describe something unreal and evil. The truth is humans are just as animal and feral as Werewolves, and Vampires.

You know who’s a monster, Professor James Moriarty. Dark grey eyes, like the ash of a burning building; fire, that’s what he reminds me of. He takes the lives of people, looks them straight in the eye and they crash and burn. Moriarty didn’t burn, he burned others. Just like the crazy man always said “I will burn the heart out of you!” Sherlock Holmes may never agree, but Moriarty has won, and he’s won over and over again.

If this game gets a little too real…my dying wish is to make sure Moriarty suffers. Suffers like he made others suffer, because that’s what monsters do, they make people suffer until they can’t handle it anymore.  
________________________________________

Castiel and Sherlock stood side by side peering into the coffin; awful smell radiating from it. Castiel refused to believe it was Sam Winchester, while Sherlock refused to believe it wasn’t James Moriarty. That Moriarty had possibly murdered this young boy. 

John nervously stood behind the two, he felt as if he was going to vomit. He thought the game was over, that Moriarty didn’t have to hurt them anymore. Here was all the evidence they needed to prove, James had once again out smarted the smartest man alive. How would Mycroft react? Did he already know? Or did he help Moriarty? John wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

Castiel looked at John sadly, “I made a promise to a friend…and I just happened to not keep it.” 

Maybe is mind was messing with him? But it wasn’t, he knew every cell that created the youngest Winchester, and it sure as hell was him. 

“You knew him?” John asked his voice almost a whisper. 

“Yes, he’s a good friend.”

“Hello!” Sherlock whipped his head around to see Moriarty. 

“Heard you were in town, I just had to come say hi. You thought the game was over, Holmes…no…no it’s only just begun. Don’t ever think that your friends are safe. Never, I will make sure that you never EVER see Johnny Boy again. Cause it’s not over UNTIL I SAY IT IS!” 

John tried to launch himself at James, but Sherlock stuck his arm out holding John back, as the man in Westwood walked away. Castiel was stricken with grief and confusion. Maybe Sam was alive, and this Crazy man was dead. 

“John would you mind loaning me your mobile for a few,” 

“Um no, here, Castiel,” John handed over his phone and Castiel quickly dialed a number.

It took three rings before the phone was picked up. “I swear to god whatever you are I will hunt and kill you!” 

“Dean?”

“Oh hey Cas…”

“Is Sam with you?”

“Yeah why?”

“He’s human right?”

“He’s next to me; would you like to talk to him?”

“That would be preferable.” There was shuffling as the phone was handed over.

“Hello, Castiel.”

“Gadreel, what are you doing inside Samuel?”

“He is healing, Castiel. Don’t worry he’s intact.”

“Right,”

Castiel wordlessly handed John his phone back. John gathered everything, and they headed back towards the street. The ride was silent, and everyone stared towards the seats in front of them. The silence was never broken, not by a single sound. 

As soon as they arrived back at the flat Sherlock locked himself away. John gave Castiel a pitiful look before heading up the stairs.

He lay awake for several hours. Wondering how exactly this so called Moriarty knew who Sam Winchester was. He’d seen evil people before, but this man from what he heard was a different kind of evil. Twisted kind of evil; twisted like Metatron crazy. Though there was something about both of them that made them both interesting…  
They’re love for storytelling.

He contemplated this for a while. Now he was truly lost for words, unlike some people…friggin’ James and Metatron. By the time he drifted off to sleep, the sun was already peeking through the curtains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter is where it gets weird and a little out there. Honestly this always happens I get to ahead of myself and weird shit starts to happen. This story was exactly written a long long time ago, and my editing skills and grammar sucks anyways. but I try.
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER IS A DREAM! JUST IN CASE ITALICS MAKES THAT UNCLEAR.


	6. Ruins Of 221B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel, Watson, and Holmes get transported in a alternate world, with a surprising culprit to blame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so italics didn't work out, but its still a 'dream'

Ruins of 221B  
Written by, John Hamish Watson  
It’s over, everything I ever worked for, is brunt to the ground. Baker Street is gone, because today the world ended. Don’t worry, we’re safe.  
________________________________________  
Sherlock awoke to a pounding on the door. It was not helping his headache. He flipped over pulling the pillow around his ears. He recalled the previous night’s events, it hurt so bad to think about. He just wanted to get up leave make sure John and the others were safe. He tried it once and it didn't work, maybe he should have just killed himself.  
He was drifting back to sleep when the knocking got louder. He forced the pillow further around his ears, trying to block out the noise. The creaking of his door caused him to stiffen under the covers and move away from whatever was there. He felt the mattress sink where someone sat. 

"Sherlock?" John was hovering again; pretty soon he'd start petting him and calling him sweetie. "Sherlock it’s been three days, eat something...please?"   
That was exactly a surprise since the dark curtains of his room blocked out all sunlight. He'd been lying in bed for three days. He lifted himself up, and made his way across the room; roughly pulling the curtains aside. With a rip that sounded like torn Velcro. 

He blinked a few times expecting blinding sunlight. A thick layer of smoke rolled against the window. He ran to the main room John following behind. Castiel stood in front of the large grand windows with his hands folded behind his back.

"It's not demons...something's about to explode, or rather something has exploded."

Sherlock ignored the former angel grabbing his coat and a gun. He carefully walked down the stairs. He slowly opened the door, but there was nothing. Not a single sound or living person. Every building was in ruins, every person missing; all that was left was the flames still burning. Streets littered with blood, and trash. 

He walked a little ways up the road, but stopped when he caught sight of a body face down in the middle of the street. He nudged the woman over to get a good look at her. Her skin was burned black, with red rashes pouring puss and blood. Suddenly he wasn’t sure what to do. He had three questions on his mind.

What blew up?  
Who did it?  
Why? 

How could someone not notice a bombing? Surely it would have made a sound, Baker Street was still standing clean and unharmed among the ruins. That's when he saw it, savages running towards him. Growling and screeching he turned quickly on his feet and ran back inside, bolting the door behind him. He sat on the steps; he felt he couldn’t get enough oxygen to his lungs. 

“Croatoan,”

The deep voice behind Sherlock startled him. “What?”

“Epidemic, virus, whatever you want to call it.”

“Something like this doesn’t happen in 3 days!”

“That’s true, which means, that there’s an archangel around.” The younger man got up and pushed Castiel aside, rushing into the flat. 

John was frowning at his laptop. “Something wrong, Watson?”

“There’s no power, no power no blog.” Sherlock cringed and stomped his foot. He had enough ever since that damned angel showed up; his life had been going downhill. “That’s your one concern right now? Your BLOODY LAPTOP! Everyone we ever knew is possibly dead and you’re complaining about power!”

“…Sorry,” John closed this laptop sliding it back underneath the chair.

“Grab what you can, and let’s go.” John look puzzled at the detective. “Where would we go Sherlock?”

“If you want to stay fine, John; I’ll take Castiel.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t coming I just ask where we were going?”

“Mycroft’s,” 

John’s eyes widened, “Why that’s brilliant!”

“No it isn’t its simple logic.”

Sherlock turned towards Castiel who had his hands in his pockets. He was pulling out several items, a watch, chalk, flask, salt, he tugged out a knife like item, nothing Sherlock had ever seen. It was pure silver, and glinted off any type of light. 

“What is that?”

“My angel blade,”

“I thought being a human now you couldn’t summon it?”

“Are you really asking that?”

John came back from upstairs; he had his bag over his shoulder. He had a piece of paper in his hands, folded neatly with several names written on the front; Hudson, Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan. “Just in case they come for us,”

“No one’s going to care John.” 

Castiel cleared his throat, “this is all fake, we don’t know how long we’ll be here, or who did this. Just stay alive.”

The Consulting Detective, Doctor Watson, and Former warrior of god stepped out the doors of 221B. Castiel welded his blade, while the Baker Street boys held simple pistols. Seeing as it was in their best interest, they followed Castiel down the once busy street. Sherlock had known this place for years, he’d grown up here, and now it was nothing but blood, and ash. 

There was a scream from a building across the street. They ran towards the door, not even having to open it just climb through the broken glass. They looked up towards the ceiling when they heard crashing and more screeching probably from an infected person. Hearing silence they walked carefully up the concrete stairs. A conversation was at work.

“He’s not here, Dean.”

“He said he was in London! He has to be here!”

“It been 4 months-”

“If you say he’s dead I will put your goddamn head on a stick!”

“I’m just saying Dean, Cas has been gone almost 6 months now. We have to face the fact that there’s nothing left here, let alone someone.”  
John leaned over and whispered in Castiel’s ear. “Don’t your friends call you Cas?”

“Who’s there?” A rough voice shouted, “Come on I ain’t got all day!” 

Castiel sighed before taking the four other steps to the second floor. It all seemed to hit him hard. It wasn’t real, some archangel set him up…but he wanted it to be real. The older Winchester had grown a short beard and his hair was greasy, along with his clothes. It wasn’t Dean that worried Castiel, it was Sam he had that stupid look that He or Dean got when they were in solider mode. It wasn’t something that looked fitting on him.

“Cas,” Dean breathed out, his voice barely heard.

“What happened?” Cas asked, hoping there was an actual reason that the world was on fire.

“War, Cas, war. Not Lucifer and Michael war but war. Some hunters freaked out made it worse, spread the damn virus again. That was 4 months ago.” Dean was actually quite jealous Cas was shaven, clean and nicely dressed. “Where have you been?”

“Places.” Stated Castiel.

“No that’s not good enough it’s been 6 months since I’ve seen you, and you look like you’ve been in a mansion.”

“I woke up today, and humanity was gone. I haven’t been lucid for the past 5 months.”

“Hi, I’m Sherlock Holmes, he’s the other one.” Sherlock pointed at John who just face palmed.


	7. All That Was Left Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel, Watson, and Holmes wake from the alternate reality after Sam and Dean die, and Holmes goes missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything BEFORE the LINE BREAKER is a continuation of the 'alternate reality' (fun fact thats the name of my tumblr blog.) anyways, if you know me from tumblr you obviously know I love a certain archangel...

A cry of pain came out of the mouth of Dean Winchester. Castiel rushed forward with Watson by his side. The elder Winchester was sprawled out among his own blood that flooded the street. He cried and screamed. Castiel was kneeling beside him, brushing his hair out his face. It all happened so fast, one second they were walking down the street, then they were running…and then Dean was beaten and bled on. 

Castiel knew that even if he could save Dean’s injuries, he’d still be infected. Dean seemed to know this as well. The hunter couldn’t let himself be seen weak, he had to tell Cas things, he had to make sure he wouldn’t be sad. Dean had already lost Sam, and to be honest since those three days ago, all he wanted was to die.

“Cas, listen to me!” He panted out.

Dean couldn’t find the words. Castiel was leaning over him his blue eyes glassy and red, tear tracks running down his face. He smiled sadly; he’d always wondered what it’d be like to see Cas cry. Or what would cause him too. He didn’t ever think he would be the cause of so much pain.

“Please don’t go Dean, don’t leave me here alone!”

Castiel knew he must sound like a child, but he was too far gone to care.

“Cas, I’m not leaving I swear, just think of it as a vacation- a really long vacation!” Dean tried to sound happy, but his voice was cracking. He was losing consciousness quickly; he had nothing else to say that could come out in words. The expression the two men shared said everything, everything all too powerful to be said aloud.

And he died.  
AndCastiel cried.  
And Sam was dead.  
And Sherlock was missing. 

Both men felt incredibly alone.

“Dean! Why are you leaving me! Please just open your eyes, talk about pie, DO SOMETHING!” 

John stood over Castiel, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Castiel.”   
________________________________________  
Sherlock shot awake, his breath coming out in short gasp. He sat up running a hand threw his matted, sweaty black curls of hair. He relaxed when he realized he was home, and wrapped in the comfort of his own bed. The dream was so vivid, and extreme. He reached over to the bedside table, grateful for a cup of water, as the heat from the fire of his dreams seemed to follow him. 

He lifted his phone that had fallen off the bed. 

Three missed calls from Lestrade, and one from Mycroft.

The clock read 4:16 AM; he slumped back down into the pillows, but found he could sleep no longer. When the clock Read 5:21 AM he gave up and sat back up. The sun was streaming in being blocked by heavy dark red curtains. 

He got up and took a bath, dressing himself in sweat pants, a white t-shirt, and his silk grey robe. He wasn’t going to bother with getting properly dressed, he was too startled and… afraid to leave the flat. He made his way down the hall, and into the kitchen. 

Too bad John wasn’t awake, he would have been more than eager to make Sherlock tea, but he wasn’t awake, therefore the detective would have to make it himself. He sighed and began heating water. He stared out into the living room, where their house guest was shifting in his sleep obviously from a restless dream.

Sherlock would see lines of stress, and pain on the former angel’s forehead. He yearned to wake him up, but he tried to avoid awkward situations at all cost. He kept glancing at the man as he made his tea and toast. He couldn’t help but wonder what the angel was dreaming…and then it hit him.

“Dean…please don’t leave me…please stay…” The man was whimpering in his sleep.

Sherlock already knew that Castiel was one of those who talked in their sleep. The first two days he stayed at 221B he had cried out in his sleep, begging a man named Dean to run, and begging the man Dean to save himself. 

This was different, this wasn’t a demand; this was a call from a man who needed help. Sherlock was damn well going to make sure he got it. That was the difference in their situations; Sherlock had John, whilst Castiel was represented as alone. 

He sat at the table for a long while, eventually finishes his tea, and fiddling with the mug. John entered the kitchen. The older man was leant over on himself, he yawned as he grabbed a mug from the cabinet. 

John was almost like a soft kitten when he was tired and had just awoken. The way he stumbled around and stopped every two minutes to readjust his socks or robe. 

John ran a shaky hand threw his almost grey blonde hair. He could still hear the yells of pain and cries of sadness from his dreams…Castiel’s cries of sadness. 

Sherlock was creeping him out; he just stared forwards towards the couch. John stopped and listened, figuring that’s what Sherlock was doing. He heard whimpers, and shuffling. He set down the mug, and made his way towards the living room. He leaned against the chair and watch. It was quite a scene, though he was used to it, little did Sherlock know he does the same thing.

Castiel had his trench coat laid over himself; he was gripping the sleeve and trying to huddle further into the cushions. 

“Castiel,” John whispered at the sleeping form. 

The former angel groaned but did not move.

“Castiel!” the doctor hissed.

The former angel opened his eyes, the piercing blue eyes staring startled at Watson. Castiel realized he was death gripping his coat, and dropped the sleeve, it hung limply off the couch. He sat up and laid the coat on the arm of the chair. John could have sworn he’d never see anything quite as beautiful as the ocean of Castiel’s eyes.  
Filled with hurt, and betrayal; his eyes were easy to read. They said everything, every word that the man would never dare to admit. Cause Castiel’s emotions could be read right off the top of the never ending moving waves. 

“It’s alright, Castiel just a nightmare. Fancy some tea?”

Sherlock continued looking out into the living room at John and Castiel. He remembered why he always kept Watson around. His fatherly kindness and lively attitude was always needed considering Sherlock’s occupation. After all John was the reason he now owned that ridiculous hat, and he loved his hat, though he denied it.

Sherlock got up, leaving his mug in the sink; he stepped out of the flat. He figured he’d return Lestrade’s calls. Truthfully he wasn’t up to running around London, but he was bored. And a bored Sherlock should never be unattended. 

“Now you return my calls, you consulting dumbass! I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days, are you alright? Jesus, jumping off a building what were you thinking!” Lestrade was shouting through the phone, loud enough that Sherlock held it away from his ear.

“I’m bored Lestrade, got anything worth my time?”

“Uh, I guess you could look into some terrorist threats we’ve been getting… I’ll drop by later and give you the tapes. Sounds good, yeah?” 

“Yes, Detective, sounds great I wasn’t planning on leaving the flat anyhow.”

“…Of course not, I’ll see you later Sherlock.”

Sherlock grunted and hung up. He headed back inside, John was sitting in his chair sipping at his tea, and typing. Castiel was glancing around the room. Cas was a lot like Sherlock, he was completely ignoring the outside world, lost in scenarios and possibilities of what his actions had and could cause.

A figure stepped in front of Castiel. He was shorter than the other men, but still taller than John. Sherlock watching carefully as the cup of tea from Castiel’s hands seemed to fall in slow motion as it was dropped shattering the cup, and spraying the liquid on the rug.

“Hey, Castiel,” 

This wasn’t from fear; this was from shock, or rather relief.

Gabriel.


	8. When I Snap A Life Is Saved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop turning Dean into a demon in everything i write.

"You're alive?" Castiel questioned.

"It appears so!" Gabriel smirked and stepped over the broken glass to sit next to his brother.

"Who is he?" John was itching to grab his gun, but then he remembered Sherlock had it.

"My brother Gabriel,"

"Oh, yes hello!" John was trying his hardest not to interrogate the man...

"Are you even human?" Sherlock beat John to the golden question. "Nope, all archangel up in here" Gabriel grinned and snickered. "What the hell is the difference between an   
Angel and Archangel?"

"Whoa! Whoa! Alright, alright, let’s slow with the questions! We archangels happen to be leaders of biblical battles, and raise the youngster's like Cas here," Gabriel tousled Castiel's hair in a playful manner. Castiel reached up and squatted away his elder brother's hand.

God they sound like Mycroft and Sherlock. Thought John with a grin,

"You're not human right, Gabriel?" The archangel let out a sad laugh, "I feel like one."

"What do you mean brother?" He sighed and leaned back further on the couch. "My powers are depleting quite quickly."

"Exactly why are you-" Sherlock pressed his lips together firmly when the door was knocked upon.  
Nice timing Lestrade

Sherlock held up one finger as he stood up and walked towards the door. He flung it open. Lestrade stood there with a few plastic evidence bags. Sherlock snag the bags before attempting to close the door, but Lestrade had other ideas when he shoved his foot in the way.

“Lestrade this really isn’t a good time.” Sherlock whined.

“Actually it’s perfect since I need to speak to Mr. Novak.” 

Lestrade pushed aside the consulting detective, and Sherlock let him. He was just hoping that Castiel and his brother would keep quiet.   
He watched carefully as Lestrade led Castiel out of the flat, leaving him alone with Gabriel. He sighed and sat in his arm chair. Deducing the elder angel,

Description; light brown hair, light brown eyes, 6’0?  
Emotions; worry, pain  
Habits; grips end of sleeve…most likely armed.  
Age; that I can’t figure out  
Attitude; protective…protective of what

He noticed Gabriel was doing the same things. Watching his movements; watching the door. So it is, the annoying older brother, who silently protects the younger one. “Mr…”

“Mr. Novak, Cas and I go by the same last name.”

“Right, Mr. Novak, you’re quite protective of your younger brother.”

“Why is that any of your concern?”

“Where exactly do you live?”

“Across the street,”

“No you-”

“I do now.”

“Can you at least tell us why you’re here?”

The archangel cracked his fingers before standing up. “Well you see, my little bro’s friends; Samsquatch, and Deano happened to get themselves in a little bit of…trouble. Usually this wouldn’t be a problem since those to yahoos manage to fuck up the world every day, but they’ve been playing with the Mark of Cain like a new toy. So one of them ended up dead, and demonic, and the other one just kind of fell.”

Sherlock could understand very little of what the angel was saying, but he nodded along with his words. John was tilting his head a little bit at Gabriel. John closed his laptop and questioned the angel once again, “What do you mean kind of fell?” 

“Wow, I expected a different question. You obviously know the answer to that. Examples, all of us sitting in this room; see Mr. Holmes, you jump off a building, but your physical self didn’t only fall, your stable mind fell. When you jump of that building you pulled three things with you, your friends, life, and yourself. It’s a sick metaphor if you think about it.” Gabriel brought his feet up on the coffee table. 

The detective had no idea why the archangel knew so much about him, but he could care less at the moment. Sherlock and Gabriel were just staring awkwardly at each other whilst John stared at the floor. Gabriel’s eyes widened in remembrance, “I have some information for you as well.”

“And that is?”

“James Moriarty- right a bell.” He paused at Sherlock’s expression, “thought you might. Anyways he’s the vessel of a very powerful angel…also known as Metatron; I’m assuming Cassie mentioned him, unless he was too absorbed in his own self-pity. By now Metatron has possessed Moriarty, so make sure he dies. Oh also,” Gabriel dung his hands into his pockets pulling out three swords identical to the one Castiel carried, “these are Archangel Blades, those of my brothers; Raphael, Zachariah, and Michael, there’re the only things powerful enough to kill Metatron. Too bad Winchesters are too thick minded sometimes to remember the obvious. Anyways out of time here, tell my little brother, he needs to get his pets under control. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me!”

The archangel snapped his fingers and left with the ruffle of wings. 

John was in awe examining the biblical weapons. Sherlock was pouring over the case file, and videos Lestrade left him. Of course Sherlock being Sherlock was already narrowing down suspects like candy. Around an hour later Castiel came back from talking to Lestrade. He was completely out of it. Castiel noted the blades on the coffee table and looked at the other two men.

“What’d Gabriel have to say?” Questioned Castiel, John gave Sherlock a pleading look. Sherlock took that as a chance to explain what Gabriel had said.

“He told us a little about the…Winchesters I think he called them. He said that they were “playing” around with some Mark of Cain, that happened to turn one into a demon and the other one apparently isn’t copping very well-”

The former angel cursed under his breath.

“He told us Metatron possessed James Moriarty, and the only thing to kill him was an Archangel blade.” 

Castiel was fighting back the urge to lash out. He was pissed (more than that really), how could one of his friends screw with that kind of thing…and friggin’ Metatron was probably watching them right now. 

John could see the fire in Castiel’s blue eyes, the anger was making the ocean blue dull and grey. The man’s fingers were gripped roughly on the arm of the couch; fingers red and white from force. That was when Sherlock decided he was going to try something. Sherlock pulled his own laptop from beside the arm chair. 

He knew the man’s first name; Dean, now all needed was his last and he had it; Winchester. Though from what he heard they used fake names, credit cards, basically anything fake. So tracking him down from a computer was going to be difficult. Who said he couldn’t use Castiel’s way of life. 

He waited exactly thirty minutes before lifting his head from the screen at Castiel.

“You can summon Demons can’t you? It’s possible?” Sherlock asked typing quickly while keep eye contact with the fallen one.

“Yes, it’s possible. Simple really; there are many demons, Crossroad Demons, Knights of Hell, Yellow eyed demons, White eyed demons.” Castiel obviously enjoyed sharing his knowledge with Sherlock, and Sherlock didn’t mind listening. The consulting detective found it rather interesting.

“What about summoning a certain demon?”

“Well,” little did Castiel know, Sherlock was typing and storing everything he said.

Far into the night when everyone fell asleep, Sherlock took the chance and grabbed what he needed and headed outside into the alley behind Baker Street. It didn’t take very long to set up the bowl of random bones, etc. As soon as he struck and dropped the match,

A certain holy tax accountant walked out of the shadows. 

“What are you doing?” Castiel basically yelled, “This might have to be the most idiotic, dumbest thing anyone-”

A new voice came into the conversation, “hey, Cas.” 

The angel suddenly felt very small, being towered over by the older Winchester. He had left his angel blade upstairs. This was Dean his best friend; he wouldn’t hurt him would he? He took two small steps ending up beside Sherlock.

“Let’s have some fun.” 

Castiel and Sherlock disappeared with Dean with a snap of fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock your curiosity get's people killed!


	9. It's Broken and Can't Be Fixed

Castiel was used to the feeling of being rushed, and hurried. He was constantly on edge afraid of danger, and the moment he let his guard down, danger had come. Castiel and Sherlock dropped to the ground as the Demon landed. They were in basement of some sort…or the basement (referring to hell). 

Dean turned on the heel of his foot, facing Castiel and Holmes. The elder Winchester was an odd pale, but not a sickly pale. His green eyes were wide and full of life, only few times had he seen a Winchester content and at peace. 

Dean stood looking down at Castiel with a look of annoyance. 

“Look, Cas. I’m telling you the same thing I told Sam. Leave me alone, I won’t bother you. I just want to be left alone! Is that so much to ask?” Dean nudged Castiel with the tip of his boot. “Cas, are listening to a word I’m saying? Jesus you’re useless.”

“I’m human Dean.” 

“No Cas, your were useless and clueless before you played with fire. Trust me I’d much rather stay here and tell you why but it seems I had things to do. So leave me alone, and I’ll leave you alone. One more thing, take the Damsel in Distress with you.” 

Castiel tilted his head, unsure who the ‘damsel’ was.

“I’m talking about Sam, Cas. I’ll take you and the British man back home, with little Sammy.”

Castiel nodded, and Sherlock gave a halfhearted one. Dean snapped his fingers, and the three men were standing in front of a crappy motel. The light was shining through the curtains of a room, outlining the figure of a man hunch over a table. Dean crossed the asphalt; Sherlock and Castiel following close behind. 

The Knight of Hell turned towards them “Obviously the place is heavily protected,” he growled and added in a mumbled, “Damn Sam and his Latin obsession…” 

“So you want us to just go in and knock him out?”

“It might be easier just to make up some lie to come outside.”

“Fine,” Sherlock growled stomping off towards the door, “you’re so lucky I value my life!” The detective stomped off towards “Could have at least made it more fun!” Sherlock hollered.

Castiel and Dean stood in the shadows watching the consulting detective land three rough knocks upon the motel door. The figure hunched over the laptop flinched. He grabbed his knife from beside the laptop, stuffing it into his pocket. He took five lengthy steps towards the door. Opening it, 

Castiel could hear remnants of the conversation. From what he was understanding Sherlock was leading Sam towards Castiel and Dean. Dean was leaned against a street lamp,   
and Castiel was standing straight as a stick next to him. 

Apparently Sam saw them as he broke into a run. Castiel didn’t have time to move before he was gathered into a bear hug. Considering Sam was stronger and taller than him at the moment. Castiel didn’t even try escaping.

“You asshat!” Castiel tilted his head in confusion.

“I can unsure you my facial features aren’t-”

“Never mind, Cas.” 

Dean cleared his throat, “well ladies guess we better get you back home.”

The Demon snapped, “Dean Wait!” 

But the trio was already dropped off in the alley of 221B. The devils trap was smeared and the summoning stuff thrown into a wall. Castiel heard a familiar flap of wings.   
“Hey, Sasquatch, Deano get desperate?” 

“Oh god…” The younger Winchester stomped down the alley where he ran into someone; stumbling backwards. “I’m sorry…” he mumbled as the elder man helped him up.

“Hi, Dr. John, John Watson.”

“Aren’t you from a book series?”

“What?”

“Never mind, anyways I’m Sam, Sam Winchester.”

“I’m guessing you and Castiel took Sherlock on an adventure.”

“CAS!” Sam turned around shouting down the alley.

Sam was incredibly confused, no way was Castiel friends with a Sociopath and his side kick. Castiel came trudging down the alley a heavy duffel bag in hand.   
“You guys have been gone for like four days! The damn Candy man across the street won’t leave me alone,” John shouted in rage, “OH and next time leave a note Christ, nothings more annoying than protective elder siblings.”

Sam scoffed, “you have no idea.” 

John handed Sherlock the bag of milk and opened the front door. Ms. Hudson let up a surprised shout. “Glory, Sherlock who are your friends?” 

“Oh, Ms. Hudson your home…we’re just gonna be upstairs…” Sherlock carefully stepped around her, and basically ran up the stairs; the other four men following closely behind. 

Gabriel growled plopping down on the couch. “That was really smart you know, just go exactly the opposite of what I told you! For god sakes, you should all be looking for that stupid librarian set on revenge, for no reason!” 

“Hey! I happened to be one!” Sam interrupted the trickster.

“Shut it, Samsquatch,” Gabriel spat back.

“Look, I’m not trying to be rude, but I’d like to get my siblings back in heaven because boy, am I sick of waking up with one in my face.”

“Alright we’ll start tomorrow.” John explained with an irritated tone. 

“Good, here are the keys to my car. Have a nice road trip.” The former archangel stepped out the door, leaving a seriously confused Sam, and an irritated Doctor, detective, and former angel. Sherlock shrugged and ran off towards his bedroom. 

John brought down more blankets from upstairs. “Goodnight.” He mumbled as he placed blankets in the Winchester’s hands.  
________________________________________  
The next morning was filled with packing, at least for John and Sherlock. John was struggling considering he wanted to bring everything. Sherlock just stuffed a few shirts in   
a bag and was pacing around the flat.

“For the love of god, Watson, grab some shoes and let’s go!” Sherlock whined from the bottom of the stair case. “Calm down Sherlock, I’m cleaning my gun.” 

“John! A gun is useless, do you even listen?”

“That’s incredibly stupid coming from you!”

Sherlock’s lips were set in firm line; he walked out the flat door mumbling something that sounded like “whatever that means.” 

Castiel and Sam were sitting at the table with coffee the Winchester had picked up from across the street. No less; no more than five minutes later Watson came down the stairs. Together the four men stood outside 221B, staring at the car left by the archangel. With unsure looks and fake smiles they all piled into the old car.


	10. All Stories End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I just ran out of idea's and then this happened. The end.

The drive was nine hours. No one said a word, which Sherlock was grateful for. Despite everything they were going in without a plan just knifes and holy oil. The warehouse which they were sitting in front was gray and almost every part of it was metal. 

A light was gleaming out a window, faintly highlighting the car. Everyone climbed out, John and Sam feeling more confident took the lead whilst Sherlock and Castiel wanted to be…very far away. Sam pulled out something from his back pocket using it to open the locked door. 

Blood coated the floor and walls, vomit and other body fluids no one could name. But that’s not what caught their attention. No it was the Westwood suits hanging from the ceiling untouched and not stained. Of course this was only a shocker to Sam considering Sherlock and John knew the evil and illness inside Moriarty’s head.   
Then moved further into the room, revealing a lone large stone wall collaged with news articles and photos. Castiel wanted to vomit…they were all about him. Article titles such as-  
‘BURING MAN FALLS FROM SKY’  
‘ALIEN SAVES SOCIOPATH’  
‘MYSTERIOUS MISSING MAN FOUND AFTER 5 YEARS’  
‘METOER SHOWER LEADS TO INTERESTING NEW PERSONALS’

Everyone was horrified. Castiel was trembling, not often was he scared but when you’re human and defenseless against basically God, it’s a little intimidating. A man from the shadows appeared. Metatron took a step forward, that infamous smirk of Moriarty’s on his face.

“Hello, Castiel,” He spoke happily. “Didn’t I tell you to go find a wife or something?” 

“Yes, committing to someone is not on my list of things to do.” Castiel took a step back. Metatron took a step forward.

“I got to say I love this vessel. Nice clothing and so many stories. Gory and bloody they could make books and movies! ‘The Great Fall of Sherlock Holmes’ has a nice ring to it. ‘Professor’s Deal’ anything…you know James had such a color imagination, his thoughts were filled with your blood, Mr. Holmes. Maybe now I could-” The tip of an angel blade was shining from his stomach a bright light admitting from his eyes.

A thick heavy Scottish accent yelled “Eyes close your eyes!” 

A sound almost like a knife being pulled was heard. When Sherlock next opened his eyes Moriarty was lying on the ground, and a man was wide eyed and holding a bloody blade similar to Castiel’s. 

“Crowley?” Castiel tilted his head in confusion.

“Don’t act so surprised Castiel.” The king bent down a fished something out of Moriarty’s pants, a small vile. “Here’s your mojo, feathers!” He tossed it at Castiel who barely caught it. He looked at Sam for approval.

“Samuel, is this the right thing to do?” Castiel asked staring down at the blue essence of himself. 

 

“Well considering I’d like to go home…” Crowley interrupted.

“I can take you home moose!” the demon offered.

“Um, no thanks I kind of need Castiel to fix my broken brother.”

“Me and the Trickster beat you to that. He’s fine and dandy, now drink your powers Feathers and lets goo.” 

John and Sherlock were busy pick pocketing Moriarty to notice that Castiel had restored his grace. Castiel turned towards them with a straight face and glassy blue eyes.

“My apologies, thank you for the help you have supplied me with. I will always be grateful.”

Castiel smiled before placing his hands on Sherlock and the Doctors head. They were gone leaving the youngest Winchester, the King of Hell, and angel alone. The demon snapped his fingers and Crowley was gone leaving the man and angel at the door of a motel room.

The impala had just pulled in, and out jumped a very happy Dean Winchester with pie in his hands. “I’d give you a hug but I love pie more!” Sam smiled and shook his head at his brother. 

“Don’t just stand there, I HAVE PIE!”

**Author's Note:**

> Of course it’s Castiel, why else would I name this story that…hahaha…I’m a horrible person… 
> 
> This is also posted on FF.net, i might not post the complete story here, cause I have no boundaries when writing and things get weird very quickly.


End file.
